


Right to Left

by eyemeohmy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Masochism, Sexuality, mild violence, spark manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, they would tell their comrades it was just a nasty mess and a bloody conspiracy.</p><p>Though, to be honest, Ambulon did not mean to make a mess of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right to Left

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this up some time ago, but then gave up. Recent events prompted me to finish it.
> 
> I was just thinking: What if Ambulon really _was_ the culprit at Delphi? What if he had been the one to unleash the Red Rust? What if he had been the one to work for Tarn?
> 
> And, thus, this fic was born.

Not much remained of the Sero clinic after the explosion. Hardly a body let alone piece of medical equipment to be accounted for. Just burning cinders and melted steel. 

However, what the crew of Autobots who responded to the S.O.S _did_ find they'd later tell their comrades was a horrible blood bath.

The soldiers poked around the remains, looking for any survivors, though they knew the chances were slim. Fortunately, one Autobot did uncover the remains of a security vid. After another search of the surrounding area and speaking to the local Autobot boot camp located nearby, the crew left with nothing but the video in hand.

Technicians went to work restoring what they could of the video, though there wasn't much. It did contain one solid minute left untouched, and it was enough to churn their tanks and turn their sparks cold. 

It was the O.R. camera, its single eye capturing a gruesome scene. There were at least ten corpses - four patients on the slabs, and three medics. Most of the bodies had been propped up on the tables, but a couple were strewn across the floor, laid out perfectly on their backs. Energon soaked the walls and tiled ground in various shades of purple, from fuchsia to a dark wine.

The poor bastards had each been killed the same way - blasts to either the head or spark. They came from a high caliber weapon of some sort, as most of the blood on the walls came from powerfully packed punches. Shot point blank, too. Heads were scrap and their chests mangled. Some of the shots fired were clumsy, and one medic was clutching a gun in his death-grip, suggesting there had been some sort of fight or resistance. Three of the patients lacked these fatal wounds, however.

What they all shared in common was the same mutilation pattern, upon further investigation of the video. The surgeries ranged from frighteningly professional to sloppy. The killer must have been pressed for time and needed to hurry. One technician pointed out the lack of t-cogs in the corpses more clear in view. They assumed the others were missing theirs as well.

Who killed these mechs remained a mystery, as this short minute took place after the culprit had fled. Why they robbed them of their t-cogs was also baffling. The rescue team, however, discovered one of the clinic's shuttlecrafts was left unaccounted for, and so it was agreed the killer must have escaped before they arrived.

In the end, they would tell their comrades it was just a nasty mess and a bloody conspiracy.

Though, to be honest, Ambulon did not mean to make a mess of himself.

He caught on that the CMO had suspected him of stealing t-cogs from both dead, comatose, and recently murdered patients (though their deaths all appeared as natural cause.) It wasn't much of a problem for Ambulon, as he was close to leaving the clinic anyway.

The original plan was to steal t-cogs from the few patients prepped shortly for surgery. Flee before anyone caught him, detonate the bomb he had planted, and leave with at least five minutes time before explosion.

That had been ruined when, while finishing up the second slumbering patient, the medics rushed in with the CMO, having set this trap. Ambulon was a little upset he hadn't seen it coming, but he was not unarmed.

The medics got in a few shots. Most missed, though Ambulon's arm was grazed and there was a superficial blast to the knee. They weren't skilled fighters, however, and as they were about to call for backup-- Ambulon took most of them out in barely a minute. Hurriedly gathered their t-cogs, cutting them out fast. The room was soundproof, and most likely security had not heard the gun fight.

When he was finished, Ambulon calmly headed to the security room, intercepted the guards who witnessed the entire thing and had been called for backup heading to the crime scene; killed them both; he hid their bodies before he was caught, stuffing them in a room only he had access to, practically yanking out their t-cogs. They hadn't counted on the fact that while Ambulon was a medic first, he was also a highly trained soldier with the massive strength and durability that came with his gestalt alt mode.

And he'd been doing this for a very, very long time.

Ambulon calmly went to his quarters next, cleaned himself of the blood and viscera, gathered the t-cogs he'd been collecting the past week, and headed out.

Guards paid him no mind; the doctor had been working here for a couple months now. There was nothing suspicious about the large case he was carrying as well, as the medics frequently went about on house calls to the boot camp, taking with them various supplies. Ambulon had chosen this place for two reasons - it was in a rather remote area, and the security was lax, given the clinic was small and there'd been only two Decepticon attacks accounted for in the last five years the place had been running.

Ambulon boarded one of the shuttlecrafts, took off; once out of the atmosphere of the tiny planet, detonated the bomb. The entire clinic, its remaining staff and patients blown to smithereens. Didn't even blink when he hit the button that took out the facility and twenty innocent lives.

All and all, while the plan had been altered, it was a success. There was no evidence of Ambulon's presence nor his work there. He made sure he covered his tracks, kept to an alias, omitted any incriminating details about him in files or transmissions to the boot camp or High Command. He'd collected at least three dozen t-cogs all in pristine or easily reparable condition, receiving a bonus of five more after his tango with the rash, stupid medics and guards who tried to stop him.

Still, Ambulon was angry. It was too messy, way too messy. He avoided unnecessary violence, as it was a waste of energy and time. The wounds he sustained were more reminders of his slip-up.

To be honest, most of his agitation stemmed from fear of someone's else's agitation at his somewhat clumsy exit.

Ambulon stared at the closed doors a solid minute. Did not move, did not speak, could hardly even breathe. He ignored the hiss of the swiveling security cameras as they turned their red gaze on him. He waited, and he waited, and when the doors clicked and the cameras looked away, Ambulon drew in a sharp breath, tightened his grip around the sack, and stepped forward just as the doors parted.

Tarn's room had this peculiar smell that lingered in the air. Thick like oil, but sweet as perfume. Nothing too heavy, and yet it still managed to give Ambulon a bit of a headache. The room was lit in pale colors, and when Ambulon's optics finally fell on the dark figure lounging comfortably on his settee, he felt his spark almost clench.

"Did you have fun?"

Ambulon swallowed. He stepped over, attempting to appear relaxed. Nothing too casual, however. "A little," he answered. Tarn watched him like a hawk as he lowered to one knee before him, presenting the bag of t-cogs. "I... know you know, about what happened. It was--it was not my intention to leave in such a rush with fewer t-cogs than I initially promised." He could not meet the massive Decepticon's eyes; nodded at the bag. "There are forty-one."

Tarn said nothing. His EM field restrained and unreadable, as usual. He merely nudged the bag, and Ambulon immediately understood. It was always the same. His word meant nothing; Ambulon carefully emptied the bag, little by little. He counted each t-cog out loud as Tarn watched and listened. Tried not to wince or mumble when he sat the defected t-cogs aside. In the end, there were exactly forty-one, as he said; in a small pile of five were the damaged organs.

All and all, a pretty damn good haul, if Ambulon could say so himself. But he didn't. He waited, hands on his knees; looked to his "customer" for approval. For anything but disappointment.

Tarn had remained quiet the entire count. He seemed more interested in the pile of busted t-cogs. Not good, not good. "... You know," he said, finally, and Ambulon suppressed a chill, "your last day on the job, despite the bungling, and this is your biggest haul yet."

Ambulon frowned. He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. Most of what Tarn said could be double-edged.

"While I am... displeased," and Ambulon swallowed loudly, "with your early departure... I have a new assignment for you. One more beneficial." To himself, of course.

Ambulon blinked wide eyes. "Yes?"

"But first," Tarn said. The edge of his foot tapped the nearest t-cog, sending it rolling against Ambulon's knee. Ambulon looked at it, then Tarn; the way the Decepticon sat back, stretching his arms out, Ambulon knew.

Picking up the t-cog, the medic stood. Tarn's chestplates unlocked, clicking as they parted, layer after layer, until a section of his innards was exposed. Ambulon studied the old t-cog; the damaged thing was on the verge of caving in on itself from overuse. He could see the metal was still hot, suggesting recent use.

Ambulon knelt between Tarn's legs once they parted. His fingers deftly, carefully, went about removing the t-cog. Fortunately, it was an easy, clean, and relatively quick job. Ambulon had taken out a number of Tarn's t-cogs in the past that were in worse condition. Melting or even merged with some of the surrounding circuitry and pumps. Dirty, filthy messes; once, as soon as he was able to remove the stubborn, collapsed t-cog, a now unclogged pipe squirt a line of congealed, lukewarm oil in his face and mouth.

Didn't get that taste out for almost four days.

The entire time, Tarn was... casually staring across the room. Ambulon didn't know at what, but didn't ask. Maybe he was having an inner-commlink conversation. Maybe he was... thinking. He was always thinking, and most of the time, nothing good ever came out of it.

Ambulon had been working for Tarn nearly ten years now, and he still hadn't learned a thing about this mech.

The Decepticon was enigmatic as he was cruel, and Ambulon believed there'd never be a time where he could visit or speak with Tarn without feeling like he was inviting in death. Even if he did nothing wrong; it made sense, though. Tarn warranted this constant sense of terror and finality; even his fellow, equally wicked and sadistic companions feared him.

Ambulon did know that Tarn himself was never afraid. Ambulon could very easily install a virus or rearrange his insides, but he wouldn't. Because he wasn't _stupid_. Even if he was successful, he knew the victory would only be temporary. The risk was not worth taking. Besides, Ambulon wished no harm to Tarn, held no ill-will toward the commanding officer of the Decepticon Justice Division. He admired his job, his loyalty to the cause and their tyrant king.

And, well, he sort of owed him.

"There," Ambulon said. He finished the installation, looked to Tarn. The giant Decepticon hummed and bent forward to study the new t-cog. Satisfied, plating clicked and locked back into place, but Ambulon did not move from his spot. He had not been dismissed.

Besides, Tarn had news for--

Ambulon felt the contents of his tank rise, about to flood his throat with acid; his optics widened before quickly settling by force. The fingers around his chin tilted his head back, until he was eye to eye with Tarn. The Decepticon's optics creased, glowing brighter; smiling, he was smiling.

"Though you keep an obedient tongue," Tarn smirked, "your EM field is nothing but desperate."

Ambulon swallowed loudly. "I... I'm sorry," he murmured. He forced himself to keep his gaze locked with Tarn's. "I-- It's not right for me to... to ask. Especially after--"

"I need you alive, for the time being. While I am too busy to properly punish you, I am not too busy to do the complete opposite."

Ambulon's cheekplates burned. "Even after all..."

" _Even after your little slip-up._ "

Ambulon gasped as his spark twisted in its chamber. He fell forward, instantly putty in Tarn's hand, chin sinking into those large, strong fingers. He braced his hands to against the edge of the settee, his spark settling from the sudden blow.

"Not everyone _enjoys this_ ," Tarn said, and Ambulon whimpered, chest arching, "as _you do_."

Tarn used his voice to kill. Used it to hurt. And it wasn't pleasure Ambulon felt as he manipulated his spark. Not in the common sense of the word.

It hurt, it hurt _so much_ , but at the same time, it felt so wonderful.

"It _admittedly_ quite _amuses_ me," Tarn continued, chortling. Ambulon bit into his bottom lip. His fingers scrambled and tore at the hard surface. " _Others_ would be _crying_ for _mercy_."

Ambulon's whimper turned into a gasp. Like fingers closing around his spark, tighter and tighter, milking it of its lifeforce and energy. His optics shut, and he ignored the warning pings from his HUD. This shouldn't feel as good as it did; his system wasn't suppose to enjoy this. Yet he shuffled forward on his knees, demanding without asking, without pushing.

Tarn had all the power and control here, and he preferred it that way.

Tarn slowly lifted Ambulon to his feet by his chin. It was the only thing holding him up. Ambulon couldn't feel his arms, barely his legs. He breathed heavily, chest rising and falling in shivers.

" _Hands behind your back_ ," Tarn ordered, and Ambulon stumbled, just a little, another small moan dribbling from his lips. " _Stay._ "

Ambulon's shaky hands moved behind his back as instructed. Tarn removed his hand, sat forward. Face inches from Ambulon's chest. "You _still regret_ not being there to _watch your treacherous brothers beg and plead_ ," he conversed, keeping his voice level.

Ambulon gasped and rocked aside. He planted his feet again, straightening himself as upright as possible.

"To _watch_ as we _punished_ them for all their _wrong doings_ ," Tarn continued.

Ambulon whimpered. Fingers tightened around his wrist. His knees wobbled.

"Turning on the _Decepticons_. On _Megatron_." And Ambulon slouched, rolled his shoulders forward with force until he stood straight again. Tarn lightly trailed a finger up quivering armor, said more quietly, "On _you_."

The medic's knees slammed, locked together. He growled over his groaning as his legs practically squeaked from clenched joints to open and spread again. Had to stay up, had to keep his hands behind his back, could not give in, could not the pleasure of the words piercing his spark like knives push him over, could not let the images of his former gestalt-mates suffering beneath Tarn and his team's hands knock him down.

 _Oh_ , but he wished he could have been there.

"I can just _feel_ your regret. The _despair_ of all that _dissatisfied desire_."

Ambulon moaned. "D-Deserved it... A-All of t-them..." he said, hoarsely, his throat dry. His fingers dug into his wrist, dermal plating folding to the pressure.

"How that must of _hurt_ ," Tarn purred; the medic shivered, "being _abandoned_ , left to _die_." He huffed. " _Cowards_."

"C-Cowards," Ambulon repeated in a stammer.

"But _you're_ no _coward_ ," Tarn said, optics brightening beneath mask, " _are_ you, _Am-bu-lon_?"

The enunciating almost sent Ambulon reeling. He writhed, crying. "N-No!" he half-sobbed. "Mm'not-- No, no _coward_!" He could feel an explosion of pain in his wrist as he tore away a few inches of metal.

Tarn chuckled. "I _didn't think so_ ," he said, lightly. "And even with all your _foul-ups_ and _little messes_ ," and Ambulon was swaying, so close to falling over into a joyful sob of masochistic pain, "you're _such_ a _good boy_."

That was it-- He couldn't. He tried, tried so very hard. But Tarn counted on this, he knew. Ambulon felt overload rush up his backstrut, energy bursting from his electromagnetic field. Legs finely turned to mush, he collapsed, knocking aside t-cogs. Fell forward on his hands, heaving, panting, as the last tendrils of overload poured from his shaking chassis.

"It could have lasted much longer," Tarn said. He smoothed fingers down back Ambulon's head, between the extensions. "But you _still_ slipped up. I'm afraid your reward was a trifle."

Ambulon took a huge gulp of air. He nodded weakly.

"And you do realize I still must punish you. But don't you worry." Tarn drew the back of his fingers down Ambulon's warm face. "I've left that to Vos. He knows his limits."

Ambulon winced. Even a light punishment would still hurt like Hell. But that was okay; that was fine. As long as Ambulon got _this_ , he would soldier through it.

Besides, it could have been much, _much_ worse.

"Now," Tarn cooed, "what do we say?"

Ambulon immediately lowered himself, his face hovering above Tarn's foot. "T-Thank you," he croaked, and kissed his foot, just like a servant would his master, "t-thank you _so much_."

Tarn nodded. "Pick up my t-cogs, and put them away," he ordered. "Then make your way to Vos's chambers. He will brief you on your next mission."

Ambulon took a moment to recompose himself. He slowly turned, still on hands and knees; his grip was weak, shaking, as he took the sack and put each and every t-cog back inside. It took him about ten minutes, but Tarn was already up, stepping over his little dealer, making his way to more private quarters for a session to himself. He hadn't transformed in almost twenty minutes, and that would not do.

Once the bag was filled, Ambulon stumbled and swayed to his feet. Dragged them off to place them with the rest of Tarn's (until recently) dwindling collection. He slumped against the open doorway before glancing back, yellow optics pale and dim. He could hear the new t-cog at work, pounding and twisting away--

And hours later, when Ambulon's entire body ached and he could barely see out of his cracked optics, he remembered his reward earlier that day. What he had to do to ensure it lasted longer; to ensure he did not go through Vos's punishment again.

No. This next mission - the Delphi clinic on Messatine - would be perfect.


End file.
